Guardian Spirits: 2P!Hetalia x Reader

Chapter One: Facing Reality

—Flashback: Age Six—

The soft autumn sun casted a golden glow upon the spacious kitchen. A vanilla-scented candle rested on the windowsill and classical music flowed from the speaker on the granite counter.

The serene melodies drowned out the sounds you made, which included tugging out a chair from beneath the dining room table. I hope Mommy doesn't come back soon.

She was currently taking a "very important phone call" and had disappeared into the home office, leaving you all alone in the kitchen. A batch of cookies was in the oven, and another metal sheet was laid across a countertop for a dozen more. The bowl of cookie dough lay innocently beside it.

Yum... Being the curious six-year-old that you were at the time, you desperately wanted a taste of that half-frozen sweetness. It looked perfectly edible to you and yet you'd never tried it. Since your mother had put quality baking time on pause, you were graced with an opportunity you were sure most children did not receive.

Climbing onto the chair, you loomed over the bowl of cookie dough. It had warmed a little so that it looked more like pudding than dough. Excitedly, you took in a whiff. Mmm, chocolate chip... As your mouth watered, you reached for the big cooking spoon.

However, before you could raise it to your tiny mouth, a flash of pink caught your eye.

"Hm?" You turned your head to see a young man dressed in a pink sweater vest and a sky blue bowtie. His pale face was dotted with cute freckles, his eyes were the shade of cerulean and his hair was strawberry-blonde. "Who are you?" He'd appeared across the counter but you had not seen him come in.

He grinned widely at you and shook his finger. "First things first. Tsk, tsk. Raw cookie dough is not safe to consume, poppet."

Unfazed by this stranger's sudden and quiet entrance into your kitchen, you asked him, "Why?"

He tilted his head. "You could contract what we call salmonella poisoning. And salmonella is a ghastly, yucky little sickness, and I would never wish it upon you."

"Oh," You gazed back down to the bowl. "But it looks so yummy..."

He sighed through a smile. "Never be fooled by a baked treat's delectable appearance," He sauntered over and gently patted your head.

Remembering back to that moment, his hand had felt just as real as any other human's.

"But... how do you know I would get poisoned?"

He chuckled. "Because I am a baker as well, don't you see?" He gestured down to the small white apron he was wearing. "Anyhoo. _____, darling. Promise me you shall never try cookie dough again. Pretty please?" He clasped your hands in his and grinned wide again.

A few seconds afterwards, your mother walked back into the kitchen. Once she glanced around a bit, she gave you a baffled look. "Who were you talking to?"

In return, you shot her back an equally puzzled expression. Pointing to thin air, you responded with, "I was talking to the Baker. Can't you see him?"

"Honey... there's no one else in the room."

—Flashback: End—

By the time you were nine, you'd had several explosive arguments with your parents.

Of course, wouldn't any kid do the same if their mother and father had abandoned them in a mental hospital for the crucial years of their childhood? Wouldn't any kid do the same if they were examined by doctors every day and slapped with a mental illness label? Wouldn't any kid fight back if they were deprived of a normal life?